A Talk in the Night
by TheKid200182
Summary: Ginny is moody again no pun intended. Quite good, post Book 6. Oneshot delightful fluffy short story about Harry and Ginny. It has no plot, though, just some fluff I thought up because I was bored…


**A Talk in the Night**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything but the plot. Period.

**Summary: **Ginny is moody again (no pun intended). Quite good, post Book 6. Oneshot delightful fluffy short story about Harry and Ginny. It has no plot, though, just some fluff I thought up because I was bored…

**Chapter One: Rooftop Rendezvous**

**Roof,**

**The Burrow.**

Ginny sat on the rooftop, her broom by her side and knees drawn to her chin. It was nearly two in the morning, but she didn't feel like sleeping yet. She didn't feel like anything.

An emotionless, empty shell.

It was now two weeks after Dumbledore's death. In the interim fifteen men, women and children had been killed, and many more left homeless after the Death Eaters attacked their homes.

The high survival rate was only due to the efforts of the Order. Thirty-two Muggles had been saved and their memories wiped, but ten had died after prolonged torture by the Death Eaters.

Oh, sure, that was a high survival rate, 75, much much higher than the previous war, but Ginny could not forget the ones who hadn't quite made it.

Just the day before, a wizard family, the Edwards, had been decimated when Death Eaters planted a tampered wand in their garden. When the family was going out, the father noticed the wand and hurriedly ran to pick it up before the Muggle neighbours saw it.

They hadn't found enough pieces of him to fill a stocking. The fireball had consumed the front porch of the house, killing the mother as well. Shrapnel and fragments of concrete rained from the sky, mortally wounding two of the three kids.

The little girl – Macy Edwards – had died in Ginny's arms. Macy had died of what the Healers called blunt force trauma, when a huge chunk of concrete hit her and caused a brain aneurysm.

No warlock or Muggle doctor could save her then. It was euthanasia, though, for little Macy, because she wouldn't have survived anyway. She had lost a leg and an arm.

Ginny was suddenly aware of a shape climbing up the roof. She tensed immediately, hand dropping into a pocket nonchalantly, but gripping the wand hard.

Then, as the shape drew itself up onto the last section of roof, 5 meters away from her position, she twisted around, agile as a cat, and fired a series of Bat-Bogey Hexes with lethal accuracy.

"Oh shit! AAAAAAARGH!"

The figure stumbled, lost his grip, fell, and struck the ground below hard. Winged bat goo flapped around him, like a cross between a 50s horror film, the Ghostbusters and Batman Begins.

Well, fifty times deadlier, though. Harry moaned and clutched his bruised behind.

Ginny slid down the roof, landing with expert ease on the patio roof and dropping from there to the ground.

"Hell, Ginny," muttered Harry, as she ran over to where he lay. "Do you do this to all guests at The Burrow."

"No," said Ginny, laughing. "Just those guests who sneak up behind me on rooftops."

They both made a front, Ginny knew, but it was a poor attempt at humor and an even poorer façade.

"Let's go back up the roof," said Harry, grabbing her and Apparating skilfully to the roof with a soft _pop!_

Her arm burned where he had touched here. Gingerly, she fingered the spot, imagining the heat of his hand where it had rested momentarily.

Ginny looked away, cursing silently to herself. Her fingernails dug into her palm, as she stared out at the starry sky and wondered at what evil was being perpetrated even now that she would have to read about tomorrow in the Prophet.

A Muggle ambulance raced past the Burrow, its wailing clarion call a grim portent of things to come.

The two of them sprawled on the lawn, each thinking the same. Why? When? How?

Ginny struggled to make small talk, then hating herself for it. Why talk when even now someone was probably…

"What were you doing up there anyway?" Harry said, turning to Ginny. "Talking to the stars?"

Ginny shook her head, wrapped up in her own bitter thoughts. "No."

There was a silence for a minute, then Harry sighed.

"I-I…I was just thinking, y'know," muttered Ginny finally, looking away.

Next to her, Harry pulled up a tuft of grass, fingering the fluffy tip burdened with seeds.

"Penny for your thoughts?" asked Harry gently.

Ginny stared back at him.

"Silly, the phrase is 'knut for your thoughts,'" giggled Ginny.

Why, a giggle. It seemed like forever since she was giggling. These days no-one giggled.

"Well, I do it the Muggle way," said Harry, and stared out over the distance.

_What do you talk with boys?_ wondered Ginny.

"So what were you thinking?" said Harry again. "I thought you were looking moody at the dinner table."

A flash of resentment flared up inside her.

"No-one understands me these days. They think I'm moody but I'm not! I'm just normal Ginny, but this isn't a normal world to live in!"

"So I take it you _are_ moody then. Well, at least what you said about a normal world is true. Where I come from, it jolly isn't normal to fly on brooms."

Ginny stared back at him, and tried to suppress a giggle. Wow, two in one night, what a score.

"I know something's eating you, Gin. And…and I just want to know what."

Gin. He called her Gin. He hadn't called her that since…since…

"It's this world, Harry," said Ginny, looking away. "So much anger. Pain. Bitterness. I don't want to live in it. I don't bloody well want to live in this damned place. I…Harry, have you ever though of just ending the pain?"

She stared back at him, confiding in those emerald-green eyes one of her most secret secrets.

"You mean suicide?" said Harry quietly.

"Yes. Suicide. The great nephenthe," Ginny said, staring back at the tousled hair, sombre face and most of all, those green eyes. Her eyes traced the lightning-shaped scar that both cursed him and protected him.

She knew Harry didn't like people looking at his scar. But she knew he didn't mind when she did.

"I have, Gin." The answer came so quietly that Ginny struggled to hear it. Harry looked away, his face an unreadable mask.

"Tell me about it, Harry. What…why…I mean, how did you…"

"I thought a lot about it the past week. You know, after Hogwarts and all…"

Ginny nodded. "Go on."

"And…it seemed the right answer. Well, just bloody well let Voldie have it all! It's not like this damned world is so important anyway! There're better things up there…" he said, looking up.

"Parents. Friends. Relatives. Hell, I never knew my parents, nor my grandfather, and I'm sure that the Potter family had a whole shitload of relatives," said Harry, unaware he was standing up on the roof of the Burrow.

He gestured at the stars. "And the secrets! I want to talke to Nick Flamel! I want to have a chat with Dumbledore, ask him anything, I want to know what a Snickers tasted like, what the first Coke tasted like, all the funniest spells in the universe!"

He became aware of himself, and Harry sat down, slowly, embarassed.

Ginny just stared at him. These past few weeks, he'd seemed so composed, rushing around, planning things, going to Order meetings, holding Dumbledore's Army classes…

She'd never ever thought he would think of such things. She'd always thought she was the odd one out; where everyone else thought of fighting and war she wanted to kill herself.

"But then I learned, Gin," said Harry, staring straight at her. Ginny was entranced by the sparkle in his eyes, the fervour in his voice, and blushed, realising for the first time she had been staring.

"I learned that we could do one of two things. One, just roll over, and let it be. Jump off a high-rise, end all the pain. Or, we could fight, and give Voldie the time of his life. We'll give him hell, and we'll win!"

Harry sat back down. "So, it was a matter of that or roll over. I chose the first."

Ginny nodded slowly. "Yeah. Thanks…thanks a lot."

They sat in silence.

**Chapter Two: Bitter Chocolate and Coffee Beans**

**Rooftop,**

**The Burrow.**

It was nearly three by now, and the dew was falling. Harry cast an Impervius Charm on the chimney, and they huddled beneath it.

Moments later it began to rain.

"On nights like these," said Harry, with rain battering at their 'roof', "on nights like these, I had visions of witches and wizards coming in the rain to yank me out from the cupboard under the stairs and paddle me."

Ginny stifled a laugh. Harry glanced at her. "It's still one of my worst nightmares!"

"Worse than walking through graveyards?"

"Yeah, much worse…I…guess…" Harry's voice trailed off.

Ginny could have sunk through the roof and into the ground. She berated herself silently for reminding Harry of that horrible night he had experienced in the Riddle cemetery.

The same thought had obviously occurred to Harry for he abruptly stared out over Ottery St. Catchpole, deluged in rain.

"Why must life always be so," sighed Ginny. "If I had one great spell that could allow me to do anything once, I'd change this whole world."

The bitterness, the resentment, the dread was hanging over her again, and she saw not much of a hope for herself.

"Gin," said Harry quietly, "have you ever drunk coffee?"

She was startled by the absurd question. "Yes. Why?"

"You know how it's made?"

"Yeah, you boil water with coffee grounds." Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Well, you can be a carrot, hard-boiled egg or a coffee bean."

"WHAT!" exploded Ginny. "What do you mean by eggs, carrots and coffee? What the hell are you driving at, Harry James Potter?"

Harry looked her in the eye. Once again, she felt that familiar sensation when her stomach did a triple helix on a broom.

_Don't look in those eyes, Ginevra Weasley,_ she warned herself. _Don't look in those darling emerald cats' eyes…_

Too late. She looked again, and a million butterflies burst into flight within her.

"Imagine an egg, carrot and coffee bean to represent three types of people. Imagine a boiling pot of water to represent life's adversities."

Ginny cocked an eyebrow. What the…

"You can be an egg. When it's boiled, it looks normal, but inside it's all hard and solid. Like Moody and Lupin. They get so caught up with the bitterness of it all, and inside there's no Lupin or Moody left, just an angry old hard-boiled egg."

Ginny started to laugh, sitting back and staring incredulously at Harry.

"Or you can be a carrot. Boil it and it goes soft and mushy, kinda like Trelawney. Hittin' the bottle. Or you can be a coffee bean, boil it and it comes out none the worse for wear. In fact, you change your surroundings, and the adversity becomes…coffee."

Ginny stretched, and faked a yawn. "Boooring…"

Harry sighed. He stared at his hands, the at the sky, finally back at Ginny. "Well, I hope you feel better. I never knew how to talk to girls."

Ginny leaned over, and whispered, "You talk to girls just fine."

And she kissed him.


End file.
